


Dripping In Gold: The Remix

by Maplesyrup



Series: Dripping In Gold 'Verse [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Belle - Freeform, But not quite, Dripping In Gold Remix, F/M, Remix, Rumbelle - Freeform, The dress is still its own character, mr gold - Freeform, nearly nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 03:33:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17758982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplesyrup/pseuds/Maplesyrup
Summary: nerdrumple on tumblr prompted: "Mind giving us a glimpse of how things would have transpired had Dripping in Gold!Belle worn that lovely dress to Gold's shop first?"Can do, dearie ;)





	Dripping In Gold: The Remix

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dripping In Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11194275) by [Maplesyrup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplesyrup/pseuds/Maplesyrup). 



The cheerful bell above Gold’s door pinged through the shop as Belle stepped inside, smoothing a nervous hand down the front of her dress.

She’d debated the wisdom of her idea, nearly missing the last few open minutes of the day while she debated whether showing up in the damn dress at his shop before the gala was a good idea or hopelessly foolish.

The expensive, luxurious confection of a gown clung lovingly to every curve of her body, draped across her in silk waves of gold. Her shoulders were bare, save for a carefully styled strap on one side the designer had sewn to make it look as if she was halfway to peeling the fabric down her body, baring herself to the heated gaze of a lover.

She walked slowly to the center of the shop, her eyes lingering on the glass-fronted display cases around her, the dim reflection of her lower body making her bite her lip in worry.

What if he hated it? Truly hated it? What if he was so indifferent to her that he couldn’t even be bothered to--

An indrawn hiss of breath met her ears and drew her attention sharply to the back of the shop where Mr. Gold stood, one hand on the curtain as he held it to the side, the other on the empty door frame, gripping the wood hard enough that she could see his whitened knuckles from where she balanced precariously on needle-thin high heels.

She watched him swallow once, a strange look in his eyes before he blinked them clear, a mask of indifference settling on his handsome face. A stunning black tuxedo adorned his frame, the coat unbuttoned and showing a black vest below crisp white shirt with a bowtie that had yet to be done. It hung around his neck, haphazardly lain as if he was in the midst of tying it when she arrived.

It was, for Mr. Gold, likely as close to naked as anyone would ever be allowed to see. She gulped.

“Miss French,” he said smoothly, the deep burr of his voice sliding through her body and landing between her thighs. “How can I help you?”

Lost for words, she stared at him, nervous energy racing through her and making her feel skittish as a newborn foal. He didn’t move a muscle, save for one eyebrow that drew upward at her ridiculous silence.

“If you don’t need anything,” he removed the hand gripping the door frame, gesturing to the door behind her, “I believe there is a gala we’re both due to attend.”

It was a clear dismissal. He began to lower the curtain, his body turning slightly to retreat into the back and her hand and voice shot out of their own volition.

“No, wait!”

He paused, his head turning back towards her the tiniest bit, but he didn’t meet her eyes.

“Wait, I…” _oh, for fuck’s sake, Belle. Grow a pair!_ “I do need something.”

He let out a shallow scoff, turning back to her and stepping beyond the curtain into the front space, his dealmaker look settling over his features.

“And what can I do for you, dearie?”

He stopped several feet in front of her, linking his fingers together as he gazed at her, a slight sneer marring his otherwise patient face.

She slid her hands down, gripping the slinky fabric of her dress as her eyes cast about for some way to ask him what she’d been dying to know.

“Do you…” she bit her lip, nervous and terrified of his answer.

“Do I what, Miss French?”

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly before opening them and looking him straight in the face.

_Now or never, kid._

“Do you ever…see me?”

His slight sneer faded, replaced by a curious frown.

“What?”

“Do you ever-”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“I heard you, Miss French,” his hand stayed in mid-air, “but be so kind as to explain yourself.”

Some unseen angel--or perhaps demon--pushed her forward and she took a few halting steps towards him.

“I see you,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on his. “I’ve always seen you and I’ve tried like hell for months to get you to see me, too.”

His eyes bored into hers, the frown on his face turning into a scowl. His nostrils flared as she drew closer but he remained silent.

“I agreed to go with George to the gala, you know.”

His lips pursed and if she didn’t know better, she would swear it was a jealous gesture. She wanted to kiss him.

“But...I don’t want to go with him.”

“And why ever not?” Mr. Gold managed, the words rasping past his lips. “He’s handsome, young, wealthy--”

“And stupid,” Belle finished. “I don't give a damn about any of it, or him. I… want someone else.”

She’d stepped close enough to feel his breath on her face, the cool puffs measured and even, and she envied his composure while her body was threatening to burst into flames.

“Do you, now?”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

She pressed herself up, capturing his lips with her own and sliding her arms around his neck. She molded herself against him, a whimper escaping her at the feel of his mouth against hers, some thirsting urgency barely quenched at finally getting what she’d pined over for months.

The initial high faded all too quickly as she realized he hadn’t moved. He wasn’t touching her, hadn't even twitched when she’d so brazenly assaulted him in the middle of his shop.

Her gut clenched in embarrassment at his total lack of response, her brain dimly alerting her that she had her answer, didn’t she? And hadn’t she come here seeking that very thing?

He didn’t want her.

She wrenched herself away from him, turning so as not to face the rejection in his eyes. She’d felt it enough in the stiffness of his body as she’d kissed him.

“Oh God, I’m--” she pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle a sob, “I-I’m so sorry, Mr. Gold. I’ll just…go.” She hurried to the door, the trek made difficult in her towering heels. “I’m sorry!”

She’d almost reached the door when a near-feral growl sounded behind her and a large hand snatched her arm, yanking her against a broad chest. The fabric of his tuxedo pressed against the bare expanse of her back and she whimpered again at the sensual feel of it.

“You,” he rasped in her ear as he gripped her upper arms with warm fingers, “do not play fair.”

He whipped her around, latching his mouth to hers and pressing her backward until she bumped against the door. The little bell tinkled merrily above their heads at the impact.

He reached behind her and flipped the latch to lock the door before sliding his arms fully around her. His mouth slid against hers, hot and devastating, wringing moans from her throat as her hands gripped him in return.

When he finally let her up for air, she gasped, drawing much-needed oxygen into her lungs as she looked up at him, dazed and hazy with unspent desire.

He gentled, nuzzling her nose with his and smiling that rare, crooked smile she adored.

“What could you be thinking, walking into a man’s shop dressed like that?”

Her cheeks heated, desire and embarrassment mingling into a heady mixture.

“I’ve been trying for months to get you to notice me.” She swallowed. “Drastic measures were called for.”

“Is your way of getting me to notice you being the most thoroughly exasperating woman I’ve ever met?”

He dipped his head to press kisses along her neck, nipping her gently, and chuckled darkly when she squeaked.

“You never seemed to care!’

“Oh, I cared, Belle.” He pressed himself against her, and she gasped at the feel of his cock, hard and eager even through the layers of wool. “I cared very much.”

She leaned her head back, regarding him through playfully narrowed eyes.

“Well, it would be a shame to waste such…caring.”

He smirked at her.

“Why, Miss French,” he tutted, “how scandalous you are.”

She bit her lip on a grin, his eyes following her movement.

“Care to test that theory, Mr. Gold?”

He groaned, burying his face into her neck, his hands sliding everywhere and gripping everything. He squeezed her ass tightly, pulling her against his cock once more and she moaned.

“Oh, _Michael_.”

He hissed in response, opening his mouth and sinking his teeth into her neck with a low growl that had her writhing and moaning helplessly in his arms. He pressed harder against her, his rhythmic tugging of her hips against his driving her mad.

She barely had two brain cells to rub together but managed to stutter a sentence.

“Wh-what— _oh!—_ t-the gala, what—“

He pulled back, giving her a scorching stare as his eyes roamed her face.

“Fuck the gala,” he rasped before diving back in to claim her mouth.  



End file.
